Fortune, Queen of the World
by Azremodehar
Summary: What if Bakura Ryou were a little more like the spirit of the Ring? AU, and hopefully at least semiplausible. Now complete.
1. A Continuation, of Sorts

There are some who say that there are no beginnings and endings, only continuations. But everything has to start somewhere, and on one hot day in early summer, as the sun beat down on the ancient land of Khemet, something... continued. It was the merest of stirrings, as a young boy, pale hair just peeking out from an oversized hat, and holding tightly to his father's hand walked by a stall in the bazaar.

He didn't want to be there, in that hot dry place, surrounded by funny looking people in strange clothes, all shouting in a language he knew only a few words of. He wanted to be at home, in Japan. With his mother and sister, who he couldn't quite convince himself were dead and gone. He wanted to see them again. _But that's what dead means. They go away and you can never see them again_.

Which meant that, instead of being at home, where he wanted to be, he was here, in Egypt, with his archaeologist father. In spite of his father's profession, this was the first time that the boy had ever been out of Japan, much less to one of his father's digs. His mother had always maintained, and his father had agreed with her, that the Middle Eastern venues where most of the digs took place were far too dangerous for a young boy. However, this time the man had no choice; he had to bring his son with him. The only other relative the boy had was an elderly great-aunt - to elderly to care for him. So he had brought his seven-year-old son with him, and, with the vague notion that culture was good for children - and children shouldn't be cooped up at camp all day - he had brought the boy to see the bazaar in a small town near his dig site. 

The boy shivered with a sudden chill. For the first time since his father had brought him to the bazaar, he stopped and looked at one of the stalls. It was as if his eyes were drawn there. The merchant manning it was strangely silent as the pale-haired boy tugged his father over. 

"See something you like, son?" the boy's father asked him. The boy didn't answer. He let go of his father's hand, and leaned against the downward-slanting table. Even on his toes, his chin just cleared the bottom edge. His eyes ran over the trinkets displayed there. Nothing about them was any different from any of the other trinkets on display at the bazaar. The boy was about to return to his father, when a strange pendant in the upper-left corner of the table caught his eye. A chill ran through him again. 

"Dad? How about that?" he asked, pointing at the pendant. 

"I don't know, Ryou. Do you like it?" the boy's father asked. Ryou hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Then I'll get it for you." Father smiled down at son, and then began to haggle with the merchant in Arabic. A few minutes later, money and pendant exchanged hands. 

"Here you go, son," Ryou's father said, handing the pendant to the boy as they were walking away from the stand. "You take good care of that now. According to the merchant, it's one-of-a-kind." 

"Really?" Ryou asked, examining his shiny new possession. It was made entirely out of gold; a ring with a pyramid in the middle, an eye in the middle of the pyramid, and five other pieces of gold hanging from it. Investigation proved their points to be sharp. "What elsh did 'e shay?" Ryou asked around the bleeding finger that was now in his mouth. 

"Not much," his father replied. "I think he was confused, or maybe it was my Arabic. He said that it was very old. Called it the 'Millennium Ring,' whatever that means. But he also said that it has something to do with that American card game, Magic and Wizards. I think he may have just been saying that, although I don't know why..." He continued talking, but Ryou ignored the extrapolations on the likelihood of the Ring being a genuine artifact in favour of actually pulling the brown leather cord that the Ring hung from around his neck. 

"Wah!" he exclaimed, as he nearly tripped over the Ring that was now hanging somewhere near his knees. 

"Careful!" his father said. "Here, let me fix the cord for you." He reached for the Ring, but for some reason, Ryou was reluctant to let his father take it from him, even just to adjust the cord. "Okay, okay," the man said. "I'll just shorten it back here." He went behind Ryou, and pulled the cord up, until the Ring was hanging in the middle of the boy's chest. He tied the cord in a knot, and tucked the end into Ryou's shirt. 

"There. Much better, isn't it?" Ryou nodded. He didn't know why, but it felt right to have the Ring hanging over his heart. 

"Yeah," he said with a smile. "I like it. Thank you, Dad." 

"You're welcome, son," Ryou's father said. "Did I tell you what else that merchant said? He-" the man broke off, and laughed, seeing the look of suffering his son was giving him. "All right, I get the picture. It wasn't really important. How about some lunch?" Although most of what his father said went right over Ryou's head - the man didn't really understand how to interact with children - this was something he understood perfectly. 

"Yeah!" He grinned. Before his father could reply though, the orderly chaos of the bazaar was shattered by a loud explosion ahead of them. Ryou's father flung himself over the boy, sheltering him from any shrapnel. There was a brief moment when the world seemed to hold still, and then people began screaming, and running away from the explosion. 

"Hang on, son!" Ryou's father said a minute later, as he scooped his son up and began running. Ryou held on, but as his father ran, the Ring around his neck jostled loose, and almost came off. At the last moment, Ryou grabbed it. Then his eyes widened in shock, as the sharp, hanging pieces rose into the air, two pointing toward the explosion, three pointing the way they were going. 

"Dad-" he started. 

"Not now, Ryou!" his father snapped. And then abruptly, he stopped. Ryou caught only a glimpse of the trio of men, guns in their hands and scarves covering their heads and faces, before his father pushed the boy behind him, and began speaking franticly in Arabic. "Please," Ryou recognized. "Don't," "I am," "father," and "son." The rest was incomprehensible gibberish. One of the gun wielding men spat out a phrase that Ryou didn't recognize, and pointed his gun at Ryou's father. There was an ominous _'click.'_

"Ryou, run!" his father screamed. The men opened fire, and his father's blood spattered across Ryou. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move, and then suddenly he was filled with an odd strength, and he was running. Somehow, he managed to escape being hit by even a single bullet. Somehow, he managed to duck into an alleyway, and find a place to hide as the gunmen went by. He knew he had to find a way out of the town, and back to the camp at the dig site. If he could just get back, he knew, everything would be okay. His hands were clutched around the Ring, holding it like a lifeline. Tears ran silently down his face. 

_If he could just get back to the camp._

The town wasn't very big, he knew, so if he just kept going in one direction, he would eventually get out. If he could get out, he could get back to camp. He kept that thought firmly in his mind, to the exclusion of all others, as he went deeper into the alleyway, and across the street it opened onto, always going the same way. He noticed that the sun was going his way too. _That means I'm going west._ It was getting on towards evening – his watch said seven-oh-three – when he finally stumbled, dusty and blood-spattered, past the last line of buildings. 

He looked around then, unsure of which way to go. Then he spotted a curve of the dirt road, one that wound its way around an odd – and unmistakable, it looked like a rose – rock formation, and he knew that that had to be the road his father had driven down that morning. He started to walk.

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the moon and stars risen, Ryou was still walking. It was a full moon, and the stars were bright, but he wished he had a flashlight. Or his fa- He wished he had a flashlight. His right hand was still wrapped around the Ring, and his left held a half-empty bottle of water. _Where is the camp?_

Then he stumbled, tripping over something on the ground. He looked at it, and as soon as he realized what it was – a fallen tent pole – the shadowy shape around him resolved into the familiar profiles of tents and boxes. 

"Dr. Kent!" he called. "Dr. Mishimoto! Mr. Ibrahim! Someone?" There was no reply as Ryou wandered through the camp. There was, in fact, no sound, except his own breath and heartbeat. Not even the night insects were singing. He tripped over another half-fallen tent, this time landing with his hand on a flashlight. It was big and heavy, but he gratefully picked it up, and switched it on. The beam was bright and wide, and its sweep over the camp revealed what moonlight and shadows had hidden. 

Ryou's eyes went wide, and his suddenly nerveless fingers dropped the flashlight. He was surrounded by carnage. Bullet-riddled bodies were scattered everywhere – archaeologists, local guides, labourers. It was through sheer luck that he hadn't tripped over one. An anguished scream tore from Ryou's throat, and something – shifted. 

As he collapsed to the ground next to an empty crate, Ryou irrationally felt as if he were being embraced by something warm and dark. And, had he been in any kind of state for rational thought just then, he would have sworn that he heard a voice, not unlike his own, whispering to him. 

_"Shh… No need to cry, my little host. I am here. We are together now. You belong to me, and I don't allow anything to damage what is mine. We shall have our revenge; I mine and you yours. We have a lot in common, little host, and I am glad. So don't cry…"_

When Ryou woke the next morning, the voice seemed all a dream. But his eyes were dry, and somehow, he knew what he had to do.


	2. The Wheel of Fortune Turns

The Requisite Author's Notes. 

Weeeeell… It seems ye like this story enough to read the second chapter. Good for me. ^__^ I should warn you though, before you go any further: this is an idea I had. I don't know how far it will take me. I don't know if it can ever reach a satisfactory conclusion. I _hope_ it can, but, well, knowing me, I wouldn't bet money on it. So, that's the warning. The first part, at least, can be enjoyed on its own, as a one-shot kinda dealie, but… 

… … …Anyway. I would like to thank those kind people who reviewed the first part – here's hoping you'll keep reading, even after my ominous warning. Other things, other things… Things I can tell you _now_ as opposed to later… Well, this fic was inspired by ponderings on Fate and Fortune, and the thought: "Ya know… 'archaeologist' is really just a politically correct way of saying 'professional tomb robber.' *snerk*" 

New Notes: The Azy would also like to thank her new and spiffy beta-reader, Tyger Dracofire. The fic is better because of you. 

Oh, and: Yuu*Gi*Oh isn't mine. It belongs to Kazuki Takahashi, who wins the prize of Only Manga Artist to Ever Make Azy Cry at the End, Damn It. ;_; I wouldn't want to own it, because there's no way I could do a better, equal, or even adequate job. m_ _m ::bows::

----

Four years later.

It was an Egyptian town on the west bank of the Nile river, but that was all the place had in common with the first town, Ryou reflected, as he crept along its streets in the wee hours of the morning. Every town was compared to that first one, if only subconsciously. He was a very different person now, from the little boy who had fled into the desert night. He was taller, for one thing. Barely a meter tall at age seven, he now stood near a meter and-a-half. Unruly white hair hung to the small of his back, and never seemed to grow dull with dust, no matter how much he put in it. Dye didn't seem to want to take either, so he wore a long jacket with a hood over the standard white caftan, to hide his hair when necessary. His skin was tanned golden by the sun, to the point where he almost fit in with the natives. The only thing that remained the same were his eyes – wide and apparently guileless. 

Ryou shifted the sack on his shoulders slightly, listening to the muffled sound of the cloth-wrapped items within. He was pretty sure that he could get at least 1,900.00 Egyptian pounds for the Bastet idol, and each of those alabaster carvings had to be worth at least 300.00. _Not bad for one week._

It was strange, though. He always seemed to know where to look to find near-intact temple ruins, or un-raided (and unexcavated) tombs. And even though he knew that what he did was wrong – how would he feel, after all, if someone went rifling through _his_ grave? – there was always a sense of amusement, of downright _glee_, sometimes, accompanied by a deep sense of satisfaction when he did his "job." He swerved to avoid bumping into an early riser, and one of the hanging pointers of his Millennium Ring scraped across his chest, reminding him of one of the two constants in his life. 

_The Ring._

It was the last thing his father had given him, and so it was his most precious possession. It would be priceless to him anyway, even were it not for that, if only due to the odd stories he had heard. It wasn't much – just dark and fragmentary legends, whispered by a handful of old men, when they thought no one could hear. But what he heard was enough to convince him that his Ring was something special. A unique artifact, as his father would have put it. It seemed sometimes though that there was something more to it; something that would make him fight to hold on to the Ring, even with his last breath. He didn't like to be parted from it. In fact, in all the time he had had the Ring, he had only ever taken it off twice – once to lengthen the cord, and once to crawl through a narrow tunnel. And even though he had been holding onto it both times, it had still felt almost as if a piece of himself was missing. 

_Which is stupid. But I still don't like taking it off._ Ryou turned off the street he was following, and down an alleyway. He followed it through several turns, and then bent down, and rapped a pattern of knocks into what was, to all appearances, the ground. There was a muffled return, to which Ryou replied with still a third pattern, before the "ground" shifted slightly, and revealed itself to be a cleverly concealed trapdoor. 

Ryou climbed down, and was lead through another door, before his host said anything. 

"Ah, Barakah! My favourite customer! You always bring me such beautiful and unique things. What do you have for me this time?" the man said. Ryou smiled crookedly. Fareed's ebullience could be infective. What was amazing was that the fence never seemed to exploit it. _An honest criminal. Tch._ The truth was, in a way, Ryou envied Fareed. The man was, ultimately, what in his heart-of-hearts every good thief wants to be – completely unremarkable. His only outstanding feature – and the reason why he was no longer the excellent thief he had once been – was an artificial leg. 

"Let's just sit down, and I'll show you," Ryou said. Fareed grinned, and soon, they were engaged in the ancient dance of haggling. 

A few hours later, Ryou emerged into the morning sun with an empty bag, a full belly – the rules of hospitality demanded that Fareed feed his "guest" – and three-hundred Egyptian pounds richer than he had expected to be. All in all, he had made out rather well. Life hadn't always been so profitable, of course. Most of his first year in Egypt had been spent just learning the language. If he hadn't found his father's wallet in his pocket (with no clue as to how it had gotten there), he might not have survived. 

But survive he had, and had even come to thrive, in a way, especially after he had discovered the profit to be had in robbing old tombs. He knew it was wrong; every time he thought of the subject, he reminded himself of that fact. In the darker hours of the night, he often wondered why he continued to do it. That was when the little voice in the back of his head (was it his conscience? He didn't think so; a conscience was supposed to prevent you from doing bad things, not encourage them. Right?) whispered to him, reminding him of the second constant in his life. 

_Revenge._

Even if he didn't always think about it – indeed, forgot it for weeks, and at one point, even months on end – it was always there, simmering in his soul. The need for vengeance, present in the culture he had been born into, and cultivated by that which he had lived in these past years. Vengeance against those who had killed his father, and stolen everything away from him. It was their fault that he was where he was, stuck on the streets of Egypt instead of in Japan where he belonged. 

_Of course, at this point, do I really belong there?_ Often, it didn't seem like it; it seemed as if he belonged in this place of heat and sun and sand. Still, he would never have _had_ to belong here, if it weren't for them. He had spent the better part of the past four years saving money. He knew that to get anything in the world, you needed money. So he was saving. Saving until he had enough to find them and _make them pay._

He was jolted out of his thoughts when he bumped into someone. 

"Sorry," he said automatically. Then he blinked, taking in the appearance of the person he had bumped into. It was a boy, who looked about his own age. That in itself wasn't any cause for the double take. But his eyes… his hair… _He's as weird-looking as me,_ Ryou thought self-consciously. The boy had light blond hair – almost as pale as Ryou's – and pale violet eyes. He was standing near an older girl. 

"No, it's our fault," the girl said. "My brother and I don't get out much. Excuse us." She stepped off, going neatly around Ryou. Her brother followed as if pulled on a leash. "We need to get home, Malik." 

"I know, Isis, I know," the boy sighed, as he followed his sister. He cast a regretful glance back, the slight change in posture shifting his caftan to reveal the top of an elaborate tattoo inscribed on his back. It struck Ryou as somehow familiar. Unconsciously, his hand drifted toward his chest. Maybe he had seen it in a tomb or temple somewhere? It seemed almost like… an _old_ familiarity. Maybe it was the part of him that recognized that tattoo, and maybe it was just the part that was an eleven-year-old kid, but he wasn't quite certain why he did what he did next – he had come as far as he had, and managed to survive _because_ he avoided other people. 

"Wait!" he called. The boy and his sister stopped, and looked back. Ryou ran up to them. "I live around here," he started, which was true enough for the moment. "Do you want to come play with me sometime?" His general reclusiveness, and the fact that Arabic was his second language usually left him somewhat less than glib. But now, the words were coming to him the way they came when he was haggling a price with his fence – easily. It was strange; sometimes it was almost as if another voice was speaking through him. He gave a hopeful smile. The boy glanced up at his sister, and Ryou saw her give a miniscule shake of her head. _That's unusual._

"I'd love to," the boy replied. "But… I can't." The bitter disappointment was obvious in his voice. 

"Oh," Ryou replied. "That's too bad. Well, if you ever change your mind…" he hesitated for a moment. For the majority of his time in Egypt, he had been calling himself "Barakah." _No reason not to continue. And if he **does** come looking, that's what I'm known as. _"If you ever change your mind, I'm Barakah." Something told him not to extend his hand. Instead, he bowed slightly, as he had in Japan. A twinge of… something passed through him as he noticed the odd look that the boy's sister was suddenly giving him. 

"Bakarah…" the boy repeated, apparently oblivious to his sister's reaction. "I am Malik." Before anything else could be said or done, Malik's sister tugged on the neck of his caftan. 

"We have to go, Malik," she said. "Father will be missing us before long." 

"It's not fair," Malik sighed, as they were walking away. He cast one more glance back at Ryou. "Goodbye," he said, raising a hand in farewell. 

"Bye," Ryou replied, doing the same. There was a very solemn feel to the whole thing. He watched as Malik and his sister walked away, vanishing into the morning crowd. As soon as he was sure that he wouldn't be spotted doing so, Ryou ducked down an alleyway, and climbed to the roof of one of the buildings on it. From his new vantage point, he was just able to spot Malik and his sister. 

As quickly as he safely could, he moved from roof to roof, following them. _I'm just lucky that all the roofs around here are pretty low and close together._ It quickly became apparent that they were leaving the town, and heading into the desert. His curiosity was roused. Before, he had only been following them from force of habit - meet someone new, follow them home. It was common sense. But now, he wanted to _know._

Again waiting until he was sure he wouldn't be noticed, Ryou jumped to the ground, and pulled the hood of his jacket over his hair, glad once again that the jacket was the same colour as the landscape. As he moved carefully over the mostly open ground, Ryou found himself wishing that it was night. Even though he was moving with great stealth – low to the ground, every step carefully measured so as not to disturb the slightest bit of dust – he knew that in the bright light of the morning sun, it would be all too easy to be spotted out here. _Don't look back, don't look back, **please** don't look back._

Ryou followed their trail for what seemed like ages. _Where could they be going out here?_ When he finally caught sight of them again, it was just in time to see Malik take one last look back out at the sun, before descending into a trapdoor in the ground. 

_Into the ground on the western bank of the Nile,_ Ryou thought to himself, as he watched the door close behind them. When the dust had settled, the door was hidden even better than Fareed's. _It's like an old tomb. Can they live down there?_ It seemed like a horrible idea. He waited a little while longer, then walked over to the door. _It's almost like magic,_ he thought, as he paced around the space he had seen the door in. And it was; if he hadn't known the door was there, he would have never noticed it. Not a single seam, or grain of wood could be seen. He could have walked over it a thousand times, and never known that it was there. He stomped experimentally on what he thought was the approximate middle of the door, and sure enough, no sound came back but the ordinary noise of stomping on the ground. 

When Ryou bent down to get a closer look at the door, his Millennium Ring spilled from its customary place inside his caftan, and much to his surprise, began glowing. He had always suspected that the Ring was more than just special – was, in fact, magic – ever since its pointers had, of their own accord, defied gravity on the first day he had owned it. The fragmentary legends he had learned, along with a few other incidents over the years had bolstered his belief. But he had never had any concrete proof, until now. The Ring was glowing. Not just shining in the sun, but visibly _glowing_. And, quite suddenly, he could see through the camouflage to the door underneath. When he reached down to touch it, there was nothing between his hand and the wood. _What…_

_"Illusion…"_ It was just a whisper in Ryou's mind; a voice not unlike his own. It could easily have been his own thought, except… There was just something about it. Some eldritch, unfathomable quality that Ryou couldn't place. But he knew, somehow, that it _wasn't his voice._ It seemed to have come from inside of him, but… He glanced around quickly; there was nobody else in the desert with him. He closed his eyes, and, directing the thought at the place he had heard the voice, asked, _"Who are you?"_


	3. And Things Begin to Fall Into Place

The Requisite Author's Notes, Part the Second. 

Ah. Here at last (it wasn't that long), part three. This one's kinda longish, but I'm sure no one minds that. Once again, I would like to thank my reviewers, and my spiffy beta-reader, Tyger Dracofire. This part is _much_ better thanks to you. Ain't life grand? 

Ehh… linguistic notes for the last part: Barakah is an Arabic name, meaning, amusingly enough, "blessing." Ryou picked it as his alias before he knew what it meant, because it sounds something like one of his actual names. I picked it because it amuses me. Fareed is an Arabic name that I just happen to like the sound of. It can also be spelled Farid, but I like the other way better. Oh, and, because it came up, a fence is a person that a thief sells stolen goods to, essentially.

Further notes: In case you hadn't figured it out yet, the notes for a particular part will come in the Author's Notes for the _next_ part, so as to avoid things like spoilers. ^_^ 

More further notes: _Italics,_ in case you hadn't noticed, are thought (and emphasis). _"Speech in italics,"_ is mental communication. I think that covers everything. Enjoy! 

----

Ryou had only half expected a reply; he had thought that maybe that voice that had sounded like his own, but somehow _wasn't_ had only been his imagination. What he hadn't expected was to be answered by laughter. 

_"So, you finally notice me?"_ The tone of voice was strangely familiar, and not just because it sounded so much like his own. _"I am you,"_ the voice said, in reply to Ryou's earlier question. _"Or rather, you are me. I have been around much longer than you, little host."_

_"What-"_ Ryou had barely formed the thought, when he was interrupted by the voice. 

_"Later!"_ it snapped. _"For now…"_ And suddenly, Ryou found himself picking up the Ring, and holding it away from himself. He watched in amazement as the pointers rose, and pointed out into the desert. He looked down at the Ring, and then back out where the pointers indicated. He could _feel_ something, in the back of his head. The Ring was trying to give him some kind of information, but he didn't know what it meant. 

_I wonder…_ he thought. Curiously – but with caution – he began walking in the direction the Ring was indicating. He somehow got the impression that the voice in his head was grinning. 

Ryou passed over the door. He could feel a tugging sensation coming from the Ring. It pulled him along for about twenty meters, and then the pointers angled sharply down. 

_"It seems as if we have someone using a Millennium Item down there,"_ the voice commented. 

_"You mean… Like my Ring?" _Ryou asked, looking down at the aforesaid object. 

_"Yes. Like **my** Ring,"_ the voice replied. 

_"Wait just a minute…"_ Ryou began. 

_"You are me, little host,"_ the voice interrupted. _"Now we must leave this place. I would wager a solid gold Horus-idol that what we just felt had something to do with that new little friend of yours." _Ryou hesitated. _"Move!"_ the voice commanded. _"Move, or I'll move us."_ Reluctantly, Ryou complied. _"Good. There are at least two Items down there; we have only one. If whoever was using them found us, and became hostile, we wouldn't have stood a chance. This will require some thought."_ There was silence, broken only by the soft sound of Ryou's own breath, and the sound of his feet on the ground. 

_"Who are you?"_ Ryou asked again, some minutes later. He had taken shelter from the increasingly hot sun, making use of a large outcropping of stone that he had used before for the same purpose. 

_"I've already answered that question,"_ the voice replied, irritably. 

_"Fine then,"_ Ryou snapped back. _"**What** are you?"_

_"Better,"_ the voice said. There was a hint of approval in its tone. _"I am a spirit inside the Millennium Ring. And you are,"_ he continued, before Ryou could respond, _"for want of better terms, my reincarnation, and host body."_ The voice – the spirit – paused, and Ryou got the distinct impression of being regarded critically. _"I suppose that you could have been worse,"_ the spirit said. _"Perhaps I should consider myself lucky that I should have such a… suitable host."_

_"What does that mean?"_ Ryou asked, frowning. 

_"We have a great deal in common, little host." _A sly, sinuous smile lay behind the words. _"A happy coincidence, I'll admit, but I doubt that it could have turned out better if you had been in my hands since birth."_ Ryou jumped; he could have sworn that he felt a proprietary hand trace its way down his face and grip his chin for a moment. _"I have told you enough. There are things I must think on as well."_ There was a sensation of something settling, and then there was no trace of the voice, except for a faint, dark, sense of _presence_. 

_So now what?_ Ryou thought to himself. It was still too hot to leave the shelter of his stone. _Damn this pale skin of mine, anyway._ He sighed, and leaned back into the sand; this wouldn't be the first time that he had waited out the heat of the day under the shelter of a stone, and he knew that it wouldn't be his last. _Might as well be comfortable._ As soon as he had gotten settled, Ryou picked the Ring up from where it lay against his chest, and held it in the air. It glinted brightly where a small beam of sunlight fell across it. The spirit of the Ring had certainly given Ryou a lot to think about. 

Among other things, the spirit had said that Ryou was his reincarnation – and his host. The "host" part was easy enough; Ryou could sense the spirit in his mind even now. But if the spirit was in the Ring, how could Ryou be his reincarnation? There had to be an answer; the spirit would know, Ryou was sure. He made a note to ask. And then there were the Millennium Items that his Ring had detected. _That must have been what it was trying to tell me. _He gave the Ring a considering look. _I wonder…_

He focused on the Ring then, his brow furrowing in concentration. A feeling of glee went through him as it responded, one pointer rising to point back to the tomb-like home of Malik and his sister – and at least two Millennium Items. One of which might, even now, be in use. 

_Yes-_ he realized. _It is._ An involuntary shudder ran down his spine. He had been aware of the other Millennium Items in a vague way, as part of the legends. If his Ring were real, after all, wouldn't the others be? But he had never thought that he might encounter them, even indirectly. Absently, he wondered how much like his Ring they would be. Would they look similar? Would they have similar magic? The thought sent a chill through him. _Can I be found like this?_ he wondered. 

_"Don't worry about it,"_ the spirit said unexpectedly. _"The Ring is the only Item that can be used to detect the others. Now put it away; it's cool enough now that we can return safely."_ Ryou looked at the Ring; the pointer was still floating. Reluctantly, he released his concentration, and replaced the Ring under his caftan. He sighed. 

_"It feels good, doesn't it?"_ the spirit asked. Once again, Ryou got the impression that it was smirking at him. He nodded. He felt safe, and comfortable with the Ring. The spirit – he wasn't so sure. He knew that there was something the spirit wasn't telling him. A _lot_ that the spirit wasn't telling him. It was difficult to trust something that made the kind of claims that the spirit did, and still hide things from him. 

_"Of course there are thing I'm not telling you!"_ the spirit said in exasperation. _"You are a **child,** little host. There are things that you are just not ready for – mentally or physically. Have patience. Besides,"_ it added after a brief pause, _"if you cannot trust yourself, then who can be trusted? It would not be in either of our interests for me to play you false. Nor would it be in your interest to distrust me so. So just-"_ Whatever the spirit had been about to say was cut off abruptly, as the Ring sent a tingle of warning through both of them. One of the pointers began to rise, and the Ring started to float of its own volition. Ryou hastily clasped his hand over it. Ahead of him. Whatever it was, was ahead of him. 

_What-_ Ryou thought. He concentrated, but he still couldn't understand what the Ring was trying to tell him. _Except that there is a Millennium Item up there. And – I think it's close. _

_"Let me out."_ The tone of the spirit's voice was more serious than it had been before. 

_"What?"_ Ryou replied. 

_"Your body. Let me use it, quickly. There is danger, and I can better defend us."_

_"But it's my body!"_ Ryou protested. 

"How many times must I tell you, host?! I **am** you! Just trust me!" Suddenly, as if looking into a dark mirror, Ryou saw… himself. The image was a little hazy, and translucent, but he felt it solidly when the image grasped his shoulder. "Do you believe me now?" The intensity in what could only be the eyes of the spirit was unnerving. "I could take your body by force, little host, and I **will** if necessary. I would rather you cede to me of your own will. Now, will you **trust me**?" Ryou swallowed, and found himself nodding. His eyes were wide with shock. "Then **let me out!**" The Item that the Ring was detecting was getting closer. Ryou looked the spirit in the eyes. There was something… odd about them. 

_But is there anything else I can do?_ Ryou knew almost nothing about the Ring, and even less about the other Millennium Items. _He can defend us, maybe. I can't. And I **have** to live._ The spirit smiled, and Ryou knew that it had sensed his decision. 

_"Fine,"_ Ryou said.

_"Good."_ The spirit's smile broadened as it faded from view. Ryou felt it wrapping around him, and melting into him, spreading through blood, and bone, and soul. _"Oh yes…"_ Ryou's finger's flexed, and he knew that it had been not him, but the spirit that had moved them. _"It's been so long…"_ Ryou felt his senses fading, and panicked. 

_"No!"_ Blindly, he clung to – something. He wasn't certain what it was, but the fading sensation stopped. Sort of. He opened his eyes, without realizing that he had closed them. _Where am I?_

He was standing in a corridor. It stretched in two directions, fading quickly into darkness. Behind him, there stood a door, gaping half open. A dim light shone out of it, and it seemed somehow familiar. Across from him, stood what had to be the spirit. This time, instead of looking into a dark mirror, it was as if he were looking into a mirror of the future. _Or maybe the past,_ Ryou's thoughts supplied. The spirit stood well over a meter-and-a-half tall, and was dressed in the fashion of ancient Egypt. A white kilt hung around its hips, and a long red robe around its shoulders. Its feet were clad in sandals. The spirit's face looked like a mature version of Ryou's, with the same blue-violet eyes, and framed by the same wild white hair. Its skin was a deeper bronze shade than Ryou's own, obviously natural instead of sun-given, and it had a trio of scars across its right eye and cheek. _I wonder how the spirit got those?_ Behind it was another door, made of stone, but mostly hidden by the spirit itself. 

"We don't have time for this!" the spirit snapped. It didn't surprise Ryou to find that it sounded much like he had imagined an adult version of himself would sound. The spirit looked angry, and against his will Ryou found himself frightened. "Let go!" It took a step towards Ryou, but in spite of his fright, Ryou stood his ground. "Let go," the spirit repeated, more softly this time. Its features likewise softened, but the intensity in its eyes did not. It reached out, and gripped Ryou's shoulder. "I won't shut you out. I was only trying to protect you." The spirit knelt, and wrapped its arms around Ryou. The embrace was warm and dark, like everything else about the spirit so far. And oddly familiar. "I need you little host. Harm to you is harm to me. Let go; I will not allow harm to come to you." For a brief moment longer, Ryou hesitated. Then, he closed his eyes, and, leaning his head against the spirit's shoulder, he let go. 

The corridor faded, and suddenly, he was seeing through his own eyes again, looking out at the desert as if through a window. He could feel his body, hear his heart and breath, but they were at a remove. It was – peculiar. And he found, when he tried to move something, that he couldn't. He wasn't cut off from his senses, but the spirit was definitely in control.


	4. The Tides of Fortune

The Requisite Author's Notes, Part the Second. 

Not much to say, this time. Just hope everyone enjoys the fic, and thanks once again to my marvelous beta-reader, and thanks to my reviewers. ; 

----

"Ahh…" the spirit sighed contentedly. Ryou could feel it flexing his fingers again, and then moving on, extending arms and legs. It stretched his back, then took a deep breath, and then releasing it with a huge grin. 

_"You have no idea how marvelous this is, little host,"_ the spirit said, as it took hold of the Millennium Ring. _"Now…"_ The Spirit did something. Once again, Ryou wasn't entirely certain what, but he could feel the Ring responding. The pointers floated up, two once again pointing back towards Malik's home, two more pointing ahead. The fifth was angled almost straight up. _"Isn't that interesting." _

_"What does it mean?" _Ryou asked. 

_"Would you believe that I'm not sure?"_ The spirit replied. _"Shh. He comes."_ Ryou looked out through his eyes. He wished that he could look around, but he could see only what the spirit saw. A moment later though, he had no need to look around. Standing before him was a young Egyptian man, dressed in robes, with a turban about his head. Around his neck hung a large ankh, the bottom part of which was cut like a key. _"The Millennium Key. And he looks just like-"_ An image flashed briefly through Ryou's mind, of a man who looked very much like the one in front of him, save that he had no turban on his head. Instead there were tattoos. The image vanished as the spirit cut off its thought. 

"A grave robbing child," the man said, looking down at Ryou and the spirit. "I cannot believe that this is his will, and yet it must be." He paused. "I must test you…" The man reached for his Millennium Key. In between one breath and the next, however, the spirit of the Ring did _something_, and the world was suddenly shrouded in darkness. Ryou could feel it tugging on his soul, along with the spirit's. It felt something like the time he had gotten a knife wound in the side – his life slowly bleeding away. 

_"This could be bad,"_ the spirit said. _"If you were an adult, then there would be no doubt who the victor would be. But a child's body just cannot take the strain. Damn."_

"This-!" the man exclaimed in alarm, taking an involuntary step back. Ryou felt his face stretch in a smirk. 

"You think I would allow you to invade my mind without a fight?" the spirit asked. "If you do, then you are a fool." The spirit tapped Ryou's forehead. "If you want to look in here, then you'll have to play a game with me. And you will stake _that_," the spirit finished, leveling a finger at the man's Millennium Key. The man blanched. 

"Who are you?" he asked. The spirit laughed. 

"Are the stakes a little high for you?" it asked. "If you want the answer to that, then you know what you have to do." The man grimaced, and took another step back. Ryou felt the spirit curl his fingers. Tendrils of black and purple mist snaked around them. "Well?" the spirit asked, around a toothy grin. The man grimaced again, and gripped his Millennium Key. 

"For now, I decline. Farewell, little grave robber," the man said. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then he vanished with a flicker. The darkness remained for a moment, and then the spirit dismissed it. With it went the drain on Ryou's energy.

"Damn," the spirit cursed aloud, sagging slightly. Ryou could tell that his body remained standing only through the sheer force of the spirit's will. 

_"What?" _Ryou asked. 

_"This is why I told you to leave well enough alone earlier,"_ the spirit said. _"Your body can't yet handle the strain of the dark games – or anything else."_ The spirit paused, then continued, _"Still, the drain is not as bad as I had expected; if he hadn't run away, I believe we might have won. We would have been in no shape to do so much as move afterward, but he would have been in worse condition. And we would have had two Millennium Items."_  A strange feeling went through Ryou at that thought. What would he want with two Millennium Items? He barely understood the one he had. Maybe the spirit… 

"What are your goals, little host?" The spirit asked suddenly. 

_"I want revenge against the men who killed my father,"_ Ryou asked without hesitation. _"I want their heads on pikes, and their hearts for my supper. I want them dead. I want them **worse** than dead!"_ he said fiercely._ "They ruined my life! They took everything from me!" _

_"Everything?"_

_"…except for you and the Ring." _

_"Exactly," _the spirit replied. Its voice had the ring of satisfaction. _"You have me. We have the Ring. And everything else you have taken for yourself these past years."_ The spirit paused, and when Ryou said nothing, it continued, _"The Millennium Items can be used as a very effective means to your vengeance. And after that…"_ Ryou felt his face stretch into a broad smirk again. _"There is so much more."_

_"Oh."_ Ryou hadn't thought of it that way before. _Of course, I don't really know what they can do. Even my Ring._ The darkness, for instance. He had no idea what it was – had never seen it before. But he knew that it had something to do with his Ring. _That man seemed to recognize it, though. And the spirit definitely knows. _

_"Spirit?" _Ryou said. _"What **was** that?"_ The tone of his voice and the image he held in his mind left no doubt as to what he was referring to. 

_"That, little host, was darkness."_ There was a long silence, and then – _"You have a safe haven in this town,"_ the spirit said abruptly. _"You lost less energy than I just now. Take us there."_ Ryou staggered to the ground, as he found himself suddenly in control of an exhausted body once again. _"This is all I can give you,"_ the spirit said, and Ryou found his waning strength bolstered by a small surge of energy from the spirit. Ryou stood, and in his mind, he heard the distinct sound of a door shutting. 

_I'll have to ask him about that, too,_ he thought, as he trekked wearily across the parched ground. The spirit's support had helped the flagging strength of his soul, but there was little that could be done for his body; it had been pushed near to its limits already. Luckily, he wasn't far from town. After he had passed the third building on the outskirts, Ryou turned, and began circling the town to the north. He passed several more buildings, including a small pawnshop, then turned and walked east into the town. A house with a wall around it soon barred his way, and somehow he managed to climb to the top of it. He resisted the urge to close his eyes, knowing that he would fall asleep as soon as he did so. 

Ryou followed the roof road past the bazaar, and climbed back down into an alleyway. It was a deep alley, and it seemed to take an eternity to walk down it. Eventually though, it dead-ended in another wall, this one riddled with cracks and small holes. Though he was exhausted, Ryou still took the time to make sure that there was no one else around, even checking on the tops of the roofs and walls. _No one._ Ryou dug his fingers into a particular set of cracks near the ground, and pulled. 

A section of the wall came neatly away, revealing a narrow passage downwards, with a flashlight attached to the rope ladder that hung in it. Reversing the section of the wall in his grip, Ryou held it by the handle that had been placed there for this express purpose, and crawled into the hole, pulling the wall section behind him. He secured it there, latching it by feel in a way that wasn't possible from the outside. He grabbed the flashlight, but refrained from turning it on, and began to climb down. 

When he reached the bottom, Ryou flipped the switch on, and quickly checked to make sure that his hideout hadn't been compromised. Everything seemed to be where he had left it, however, so with a satisfied nod, he flipped the light back off. Moving by memory, he took the payment he had gotten – just that morning! – from Fareed, and placed it in one of the two boxes that sat beside the small cot he had in the chamber. Then he tossed off his dusty clothes, and practically fell into his cot, pulling the blanket there up over his head. And finally, Ryou succumbed to the soul-deep exhaustion that had dogged his steps all the way to his hideout.

Ryou slept for two days straight. It wasn't a calm, deep sleep, but one plagued by dreams of darkness and sand. Fleeting visions of bizarre creatures, and people he had never met went through his mind, and vanished as quickly as they came. When he finally woke up, he tried desperately to cling to the last image in his mind, but it fell away like water. The first thing he became aware of as he wakened was the fact that his body seemed to be one giant ache. He hadn't felt that sore in years. The second thing he noticed was his thirst. Groping blindly at the side of his cot, he eventually found his water bottle, and swallowed the contents in three big gulps. Only then did he notice the dark - and amused - presence entwined in his mind, and all the events of the other day came rushing back to him. "Wow," he muttered. The spirit laughed. _"Welcome back to the land of the living, little host," _it said_. "Now get up. We have a lot of work to do if you ever want to be able to use the Millennium Items." _Ryou groaned. It was going to be a long day. 


	5. Shift and Change

Requisite Author's Notes (again)

First: Thanks once again to my marvelous beta-reader, Tyger Dracofire. You make my fic a better place. m m

Next: Well, here it is. Part Five. I don't know why, but "Part Five" has always seemed like a great stepping stone to me when fic writing. Perhaps it's silly, but it always seems to me to mean something more than any part previous. Odd, ne? Oh well. For this part, there are actually a few very important notes:

1: This part is NOT from Ryou's POV. It's (mostly) from Malik's. Don't worry, the next chapter will pick up in Ryou's POV again, but this was… necessary.

2: This is actually a note I keep meaning to put up, as it applies to the fic as a whole, but I keep forgetting. I am something of a "purist." In spite of that, I have refrained from using the appropriate Japanese terms ("Sennen," "yadonushi," etc.) for a very good reason – the environment that the characters are in is NOT Japanese. I would use Arabic (or, in some cases, Ancient Egyptian) terms, but I am familiar with neither of those languages, and, being a purist, it would cause be great personal pain to mis-use a word or phrase. Another thing: this is a fic written in English for an English-speaking audience. Unless thematically (or artisticly) appropriate, I generally tend to refrain from using any other language. Like it, hate it… that's the way I am.

3: There is no number three. However, when this lawyer I know was telling me about speeches and testimonies, she said that things should always be grouped in threes. …Oh. Here's one: Barakah _is_ Bakura. Remember that.

----

The bandage peeled away with a wet, tearing sound, and the semi-conscious Rishid groaned. Isis winced. It had been four days, and his back still looked like nothing so much as a mound of raw meat.

"Will Rishid be okay?" Although he obviously tried, Malik failed to completely conceal the tremor in his voice. Isis hesitated momentarily, glancing over at her brother. She suppressed a shudder at the sight of the Millennium Rod hanging in his hand. He was still her brother, her sweet, bright little brother, but… sometimes, she couldn't help but see the dark, twisted reflection of himself that he had become. It was as if it was superimposed over Malik's form.  Isis bowed her head, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that she felt building. She started in surprise, as she felt her brother's arms wrap around her in a hug.

"Don't cry," he said, taking her tears as despair at Rishid's situation. "It'll be okay. We can take Rishid to a hospital on the surface. They'll be able to fix him there, right?" Isis opened her eyes, saw Malik's look of almost despairing hope, and remembered that it had somehow been Rishid who had returned her brother to himself. She wrapped her arms around Malik, holding him tightly, unable to stop her tears. He held her as she wept for all the things that had been broken and lost these past days.

"You're right," she said, some time later. "No matter what the traditions say, we have to take him to a hospital." Malik pulled away in sudden anger.

"Damn the traditions! They don't matter anymore!" he said, tightening his grip on the Rod. "Father's dead, and that makes me the leader, and I say that there's no good in rotting down here anymore. We need to leave, find a better place to live. Eat different food, travel to far-off lands," he ranted. "See things, do things, and-" his voice caught, and he grit his teeth, holding back a sob. He refused to cry. Isis cleared her throat.

"We should bring Rishid to the hospital now, before he gets any worse," she said. "Help me prepare his for the trip." Malik nodded, and moved to follow his sister's instructions.

_Why?_ he thought, as he handed her the things she needed. _What did we ever do to make the pharaoh hate us?_ He wasn't able to dwell on his resentment any further then; it took most of his concentration to help Rishid walk. Isis would have helped, but Malik insisted on doing it himself. He was very careful to offer support without touching Rishid's back; he remembered quite clearly how much his own back had hurt when his father had carved that tattoo into it, and he knew that Rishid's would be feeling much the same. _Of course,_ he reflected bitterly, _there was no hospital for me._

It seemed as if it took hours to even reach town, and almost as long to find their way to the hospital. They were slowed by the frequent stops needed to keep Rishid from collapse, but some time that afternoon, they finally made it.

"Emergency Room," Isis read the sign. "I think that this would be the right place." Whether it was a whim of fortune, or pure chance, Malik didn't know, but he was grateful that there was no one else in the room when they arrived.

"What is your emergency?" asked the man behind the counter.

"Our brother is badly hurt," Malik heard Isis say, as he helped Rishid into a chair. Rishid clenched his teeth, obviously holding back a cry of pain. Malik paid little attention to what else passed between Isis and the man; he was sure that his sister could handle it, and Rishid was on the verge of falling unconscious. Isis had said earlier that they had to keep him awake, if only until they had gotten him into the hands of a doctor. It would be very bad if he passed out.

"We're at the hospital now, Rishid," Malik said, an earnest look in his eyes. "Just stay awake a little longer. The doctors will be here soon, and they'll take care of you. It'll be okay." A hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped, half-reaching for the Millennium Rod. It was hidden at the small of his back, under a new over-robe. He stopped when he realized that the hand belonged to Isis.

"The doctors are here, Malik," she said softly. Reluctantly, he allowed her to draw him away from Rishid, so that the doctors could get to him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

"Will he be okay?" Malik asked, as they prepared to wheel Rishid away. One of the doctors turned.

"Probably," the man said. He had an odd accent, and his skin was paler than Malik had ever seen before.

_Not that I've seen many people_, he thought. _But I think he's a foreigner._

"We can do a lot with modern medicine," the doctor added. And then they were gone.

"They said that we could wait here," Isis said. Malik nodded, and stepped away from her to sit on a chair that was out of easy earshot from the man behind the counter. Isis followed, and sat next to him.

"What did you tell them?" Malik asked quietly.

"That our father had whipped him for disobedience," she replied. "As for our father, I told them that he had been interrupted by an intruder, who he then chased after. I told them that it's been more than a day, and so we decided to bring Rishid to the hospital." Malik nodded. It wouldn't be difficult to remember. He settled down to wait for word from the doctor. To his right, he noticed on a side table a stack of glossy books – magazines like the one he had found the other day. Curious, he began looking through them.

It quickly became apparent that they were all aimed at a particular interest. The first three were of little interest to him – one was actually in a foreign language. The fourth and fifth, he set aside as possibilities, but the sixth… In spite of all that had happened, the sixth managed to bring a smile to his face. The entire thing was dedicated to _motorcycles._ He had been captivated at his first sight, and now wasn't any different. He opened it, almost as reverently as he would an ancient text. It was a thick magazine – the cover had labeled it as a "special edition," and so, for the next couple of hours, Malik was able to lose himself, and forget all the strifes that had plagued him and his family.

By the time he had finally finished, the sky outside had turned a deep red. Although Malik himself had never seen a sunset, he knew that the reddening of the sky was a sign that night would soon be falling. For a moment he was surprised; then he realized that by the time they had gotten to the hospital, it had been late in the afternoon anyway.

_So no wonder that it's almost night. But I've never gotten so caught up in reading before._ Glancing to his left, he noticed that Isis had fallen into a light doze. He poked her in the shoulder.

"Mmm… uh?" she replied, coming awake. "What – oh," she continued, seeing the colour of the sky. "It's gotten late. Haven't they had any word yet?" As if in reply, the sound of a throat being cleared drew both of their heads toward the doors that lead into the hospital proper. Standing there was the same doctor who had answered Malik before.

"I was just coming to tell you, actually," he said, once he had their attention.

"What is our brother's condition?" Isis asked, interrupting whatever he had been about to say next.

"I was getting to that, young lady," the doctor replied, with a slight smile. "Your brother will be fine," he continued. Malik breathed a purely mental sigh of relief. "I'm glad that you decided to bring him here though. What your father did was wrong, and if you had waited any longer to bring him here, his situation would have been much worse." They nodded. The doctor looked at them, and sighed, muttering something in another language. "He should stay here for at least a week," he continued, in Arabic once more. "After that, you should be able to bring him home." He looked outside, and then back at Malik and Isis. "It's getting late. If you'd like, I can arrange for a cab, or for you to stay here for the night." Isis shook her head.

"I thank you for the offer, but we should go home." Malik bit his tongue; _he_ would have liked to sleep above ground, and he didn't feel comfortable leaving Rishid alone, in the hands of strangers. But there were, he knew, several compelling reasons to return to the crypt that had been their home. For one thing, something had broken the ancient magic that kept it hidden from outsiders, and Malik couldn't bear the thought of thieves coming and rifling through _his_ belongings. And they _had_ brought Rishid here to get help.

_Besides. The Millennium Tauk is still there. **That** at least, can't be left unguarded._ He knew that he was dragging his feet. Trying to convince himself to go back there, when he really wanted to never return again. But he had to; for now, at least, he had nowhere else to go. Staying one night in the hospital wouldn't change that.

"Let's go, Isis," Malik said, standing up. He took her hand. "Before it gets too dark."

"If you're sure…" the doctor said uncertainly, looking back and forth between them.

"We're sure." Isis spoke for both of them. Malik could tell that she was relieved that he hadn't protested. The doctor sighed, and told them the visiting hours. Isis nodded. "We'll be back to visit. Good night, doctor." The doctor wished them a good night as well, and told them to be careful. A few minutes after they had left the hospital, it was dark.

_So this is why they say that night falls. One minute, there's plenty of light. The next, it's pitch black. _ There wasn't even a moon, which disappointed Malik. There were some stars, but aside from them, the darkness was only broken by a few house lights, and the occasional car. Isis tightened her grip on Malik's hand, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze back. He slid his other hand under his over-robe, and touched the Millennium Rod. The metal, warmed by his body heat, was comforting.

Although they remained tense and wary, Malik and Isis made it to the outskirts of town without any incident. It was still a good walk home, but Malik felt Isis relax minutely. Malik still felt tense. Something was happening in the dark. The silence of the night was suddenly broken by an angry shout. It was followed by a high, dark laugh, that was somehow triumphant, and then there was the sound of heavy steps moving rapidly across the ground.

"Move!" The voice that called out matched the laugh, and seemed familiar to Malik beyond that. He turned to where the voice had come from, and, seeing a dark, white-topped figure coming towards him, started to move. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite quick enough.

"Oof!" The grunt came from two throats, as Malik found himself sprawled on the ground, with the person who had collided with him half-lying on top of him. The Millennium Rod dug painfully into his back.

"What –" he started, pushing himself up on one elbow.

"No time," the person said, pushing himself to his feet. Before Malik could reply, the person had ducked into the shadows, and seemed to vanish. "Don't tell them where I am."

_That was Barakah! That boy in the bazaar!_ Malik thought, as he suddenly connected long white hair with that vaguely familiar voice. He wasn't able to do more than pull himself into a sitting position though, when a trio of men came out of the same alley that Barakah had run from. He noticed that Isis – who hadn't been knocked over – had edged over, so that she was standing next to him again. She offered him a hand up, and he took it quickly, as the men noticed that their quarry had apparently escaped. They turned to Malik and Isis.

"Hey," said the one who appeared to be their leader. "Boy. Tell us where that scrawny little brat went." They seemed to be ignoring Isis, focusing their attention on Malik. A heavy taint of alcohol stained the leader's breath.

_I thought that Muslims weren't supposed to drink,_ Malik thought. A wave of disgust passed over him. He had the sudden urge to grasp the Millennium Rod, and take their minds. Take all of their pathetic minds, make them bow to him, and force them to become something that didn't offend him. His mouth stretched into something that wasn't a smile. _Take them, and break them, and if they still offend, kill them._ The leader took a step back, and then another. Malik moved forward, his not-smile growing wider. There was something building in the back of his mind. The men ran then, but the thing kept growing. It was a pressure, building, and building, and –

"That was a close call," Barakah said, stepping from the darkness. And suddenly, the pressure in Malik's mind was gone, fled back to wherever it came from.


	6. Manipulation and Deceit

"I'll take my prize now," Ryou said with a smirk. He snatched up the flat wooden box, and wrapped it in a non-descript piece of cloth, and shoved it into a pocket. The man sitting across from him still had a look of disbelief written across his face. His cards fell from his hand. Ryou's deck was already stowed safely in another pocket.

"N-no… You're just a little _brat_…" Ryou snorted, and stood easily from his seat on the floor. This was almost too easy. It had only been last night, as he was returning to his hideout, that he had spotted the card game on display in a shop window. Ryou would have walked right by – he was tired, after a long day of the spirit's _training_ – but the spirit had reacted so strongly that it had staggered him.

_"I don't believe it,"_ the spirit had said. It had laughed. _"Some fool – some modern, mortal fool – has brought them back. Brought them back as a **game**."_ It laughed again, and then said,_ "Come, little host. We must acquire some of these cards." _

_"Why?"_ Ryou had asked, as he went into the store. _"Wait – it has something to do with the Items, doesn't it?"_ He remembered, when his father had bought the Ring for him, he had said that the vendor had said that the Ring had something to do with the card game, Magic & Wizards. Ryou had forgotten about it, until now, seeing the spirit's reaction to a display of the game. The spirit's approval had wrapped itself around him like a warm blanket. Ryou had smiled.

The spirit hadn't given him any further explanation, save to say that it would make Ryou's training "easier," but an hour later, Ryou had walked out of that small shop with over a thousand Egyptian pounds worth of cards. When he got back to his hideout that night, instead of going to sleep, he had spent hours putting together a Magic & Wizards deck, using only the soft glow of the Ring for light. When he finally fell asleep, in the small hours of the morning, it was with a deck under his hand, and the approval of the spirit in his mind.

The next day, under the spirit's guidance, Ryou had sought out another player – "the perfect victim," the spirit had labeled him. Ryou had readily agreed; the man was a fool and a drunkard. It had been easy to tempt him into a series of games, each with successively higher stakes. Several of the man's friends had arrived at some point in the day, bringing with them American whiskey. After that, it had only gotten easier. Finally, when the man had only one worthwhile thing to wager – a very rare card, one of only a handful ever made – the spirit had given him an odd instruction.

_"Are you sure?"_ Ryou has asked.

_"Do it,"_ the spirit had replied. Ryou could almost see its smile. _"You'll **like** this."_ So Ryou had done as the spirit instructed, and coerced his opponent into wagering a "valuable and irreplaceable part of himself," in addition to the card. In return, Ryou had staked everything that he had thus far taken from the man. And now Ryou had won.

"No," the man repeated again. "You cheated. You couldn't have won unless you cheated, you little piece of shit!" The man lunged at Ryou, but the white-haired boy easily dodged aside.

_"Can we leave now? This man is disgusting,"_ Ryou said.

_"We still have a prize to claim, little host,"_ the spirit replied.

_"What? What did you have in mind?"_ Ryou asked.

_"I will guide you. Let me in." _Ryou had a strange feeling of apprehension, but he nevertheless opened himself to the spirit. There was a pleasant tingle as the spirit wrapped itself around him, leaving them in a curious blend. They had done it twice before, during the spirit's training – it would guide Ryou through something, and then withdraw, drilling him until he perfected it.

Now, they reached with the dark power of the Ring, and touched something inside the man. With some shock, he realized that it was his soul. Suddenly, he had a rare moment of perfect synchronization with the spirit – perfectly in tune, mind and soul – and he knew that he had absolute power over the man's soul. He could tear it from the man, and cast it forever into the darkness, or imprison it within an idol. He could even destroy it, if he so chose. And he knew that by his absolute victory over the man, it was his _right_ to do so. That was where the spirit stopped guiding him. It melted away, to its usual place in the back of his mind.

_"You are a thief, and my reincarnation,"_ the spirit said. _"Do what you were born to do."_ Ryou hesitated. It was one thing to take a man for everything he had – if he was stupid enough to bet it, he deserved to lose. But to take his soul?

_He did wager it though,_ the thought occurred to him. _Even if he didn't know it._

_"Take it, little host,"_ the spirit said. _"His soul belongs to us now, to do with what we will."_ The spirit wormed darkly though his mind, touching, showing, letting him know, letting him _feel_ what it would be like. _Power._ Strength. Deep fulfillment and dark contentment. The man had _lost. _And his soul belonged to them.

The man lunged for Ryou again, and he ducked out of the way, spinning in another dodge, as one of the man's friends tried to grab him as well. The man now stood between him and the way out. Not that it mattered. Ryou smiled darkly, and pulled on the power of the Ring.

"Now, I will take my _other_ prize," he stated. Gold flashed in his mind, and the man collapsed, his soul held by the power of the Ring, warm and writhing and _terrified._ It was weak; surprisingly so. _Of course, the only other soul I've ever felt is the spirit of the Ring… _And it was there, that sense of satisfaction at claiming what belonged to him. Then a feeling of triumphant glee bubbled up from somewhere. He wasn't certain if it originated in himself, or in the spirit, but it echoed and resonated between them. The almost joyful rush – it was like nothing he had ever felt before.

_"There's probably only one other thing that feels this good,"_ the spirit said, grinning in his mind. Before Ryou could ask what the spirit was talking about, one of the man's friends cried out in rage, and lunged for him. Once again, Ryou dodged, and ran out the door, laughing in his glee. The man's three friends gave chase, but they were slow and clumsy from drunkenness, their steps loud and heavy. Ryou's own sandaled feet made no sound on the hard-packed dirt of the alley. He was so caught up in his sudden euphoria, that he almost missed the stirring of his Millennium Ring. There was another Item ahead, and close.

He didn't have time to think about it; he could see a pair of figures walking across the mouth of the alley. Quickly, he shoved the soul that he still held into the first thing that came to mind – the card inside the wooden box he had claimed earlier. He marshalled his defences, and felt the spirit waiting just behind his eyes. Then he realized that he was going to run right into the smaller of the two figures.

"Move!" he shouted. The smaller figure turned, bringing its face into view. _"That's Malik!"_ he exclaimed mentally, just before colliding with the other boy, who had failed to move fast enough. They landed in a sprawl, with Ryou on top.

_"He definitely has an Item,"_ the spirit said, as Ryou pushed himself back to his feet.

"No time," he said aloud. He could hear the heavy footsteps of his pursuers approaching. He ducked into a shadow, and again pulled on the power of the Ring, subtly augmenting the darkness around him. A brief wave of dizziness hit him, and he felt the spirit's equally brief support. It was another reminder that the spirit was stronger than he; sometimes he wondered just how much stronger.

"Don't tell them where I am," he called softly. Malik pulled himself into a sitting position, appearing to ignore Ryou. That suited Ryou just fine. Malik's sister helped her brother the rest of the way up, as the trio that had been chasing Ryou came onto the street.

_"You're planning something," _the spirit said, as they watched the trio confront Malik.

_"Sort of,"_ Ryou admitted. _"He has an Item, right? And his family has at least one other… I guess you could say I had an idea."_

_"He's a mortal child. We could defeat him and take his Item easily." _

_"But I like him,"_ Ryou protested._ "And besides, if they have two, they might know where other Items are. It would be better to use them to help get the other Items first. …We can get Malik's later, I guess."_ There was a moment of thoughtful silence from the spirit, followed by a slow nod.

_"We'll see. I am pleased though, by your strategic thinking, host. It is good that I do not need to teach you subtlety and deceit." _And then something _interesting_ happened. A palpable wave of rage emanated from Malik, rippling through the darkness. Reflexively, Ryou gripped the Ring, reaching out, listening. It was the first thing that the spirit had taught him to do with the Ring, and it was the one that came easiest.

"Take them, break them, crush them, kill them…" Malik was muttering under his breath. Ryou would never have heard it without the Ring's magic. Malik's mouth had stretched into a demented mockery of a smile.

_"I think I see why you like him, little host,"_ the spirit said, grinning in Ryou's mind.

_"You do?"_ Ryou replied. He was slightly distracted; there was something… something wrong with Malik. _What is it…Shit. "Something's wrong!"_  he exclaimed in alarm.

_"You're right,"_ the spirit agreed. _"I'm taking over."_ Wordlessly, Ryou protested. He didn't mind partially merging with the spirit, but he hated being completely out of control of his own body. _"Ammit consume you host! Do we have to go through this **again**?!"_ With a sound of frustration that was purely mental, Ryou ceded control to his other. Swiftly, the spirit grasped the magic of the Ring, doing something subtle and complex that was beyond Ryou's ability to follow. _"There is an outside force keeping him…sane,"_ the spirit explained. _"His connection to it was tenuous."_ It was silent for another moment, and then continued, _"Let's see what you have planned, little host. Prove yourself to me. I'm finished here."_ A strange feeling passed through Ryou, and then abruptly, he found himself in control of his body again.

_Here goes,_ he thought.

"That was a close call," he said, stepping back into the street. Malik's head turned slowly toward him, as if half-way in a trance. His eyes were blank and unresponsive, with pupils that were contacted to narrow points. "Sorry about that," Ryou continued, nodding in the direction that the men had fled. "It was a complete accident that I bumped into you. Malik?" Ryou paused. Malik still hadn't responded any further. His breathing was shallow.

_He's done that before,_ Ryou realized, as he looked at Malik's sister. The pale-faced look of terror on her face hadn't been directed at the men.

"Hey… Malik?" Ryou said, waving his hand in front of the blond boy's eyes. There was still no reaction. His sister stepped over then. She glanced at Ryou, and then placed her hands on Malik's shoulders, dismissing the white-haired boy for the moment.

"Malik?" she said, shaking him gently. No response. "Malik! Come out of it! Please." Ryou could see the wetness of tears growing in her eyes. The shaking grew rougher. Malik's pupils contracted still further.

_Damn it._ Malik wasn't returning to his senses. Ryou suspected that the spirit had done something, but he wasn't sure what. It seemed like Malik was no longer in danger of going on a psychotic rampage, but he wasn't back to normal. It almost seemed as if his mind was in a state of suspension. He was safe – but it seemed as if what his sister was doing was pushing him, closer and closer toward the brink, and back over the edge. And the spirit had pretty much said that he was on his own with this.

**_Prove yourself to me._**

_Damn it._ He reached out, and grabbed the wrist of Malik's sister. Startled, she jumped back. Ryou stepped smoothly to the side, and avoided being knocked over. He didn't lose his grip.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, suddenly imperious. Ryou had noted her surety of self, but the sense of authority she now projected had been well-hidden. As young as she was, many people would have been cowed by it, and by the look in her eyes. But though he was even younger, Ryou wasn't even moved. He knew that if it came down to it, he could flatten her. He didn't answer her question, instead simply meeting her eyes, and matching her stare. He held perfectly still, never relaxing his grip on her wrist. She blinked first. Ryou smiled, and released her. It hadn't been more than a couple of seconds.

"Let me try," Ryou said. "Living like I do, you see things like this sometimes." He gave her a reproachful look. "You shouldn't shake him like that." Malik's sister took a half-step back, and Ryou, growing impatient, elbowed her aside, and stepped up close to Malik. "Hey," he said, poking Malik in the forehead. "Wake up." He felt a bit of a jolt when he touched Malik, and the blond boy gasped, his pupils dilating, and awareness returning to his eyes.

"Barakah?" he whispered, and then groaned, clutching his head. His knees started to buckle. _Perfect!_ Ryou thought, catching Malik as he started to fall. He felt something hard protruding from Malik's back, his fingers just brushing it as he wrapped an arm around the blond boy. In his head, the spirit chuckled, and Ryou got the impression of a toothy grin.

_"That's my host,"_ the spirit said quietly. Ryou gave no reply; he didn't think that the spirit was expecting one.

"Yeah," Ryou replied. "It's me. Are you all right?" Malik shook himself, then nodded, and shrugged out of Ryou's support. Ryou let him, but as he pulled his arms away, he angled his wrist so that the bracelet on his wrist – which he had begun wearing at the spirit's behest – caught on the protrusion of Malik's Millennium Item. Internally, he smiled, as the maneuver had precisely the effect he had hoped it would. He stumbled, as Malik's momentum jerked him in the opposite direction from where he had been going, and his stumble pulled Malik back. They both managed to keep their feet, but Malik's Item was pulled free, and sent spinning through the air. It didn't get far however. There was a flare of gold, and the Item halted mid-air, no more than a meter from Malik, and spun back into his hand. His sister had stepped back again. Malik turned to face Ryou, and Ryou saw the glow of the familiar Eye fade back into his forehead. Ryou put on his best look of wide-eyed surprise. Malik looked almost fierce.

"That… that looks like…" Ryou stuttered, pointing shakily at Malik's Item.

_"It's the Rod,"_ the spirit spoke into his mind. _"The Millennium Rod."_ Again, Ryou didn't respond; he needed to pay attention to his deception. Malik was young, and obviously naive about a lot, but he wasn't a mark.

"Huh?" Malik replied. He blinked, and some of the fierceness faded from his eyes. He glanced at the Rod, and then back at Ryou. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Looks like what?" Ryou didn't stop to dwell on what he was about to do. He just reached into his caftan, and grasped the thong on which the Ring hung.

"Like this," he said, pulling the Ring out. Malik's eyes widened, and so did his sister's. Mentally, Ryou smiled.


	7. Walk into the Dark

Yes, finally updating. Thank you all for your patience; I'm a terrible procrastinator. However, this is the end. There may be a sequel in the works (I have some ideas), but knowing me, I doubt it. Thank you all for your reviews. I hope you like the last part. And thanks again to my beta Tyger, without whom this last part would probably never have been finished, much less posted.

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"A Millennium Item!" Malik gasped.

"The Ring," his sister agreed. She reached toward it.

_I don't think so,_ Ryou thought. He tucked the Ring back into his caftan. It was good to have it back against his skin.

"Where did you get that?" Malik's sister asked, stern authority once more. It was irritating, but not unexpected.

"Does it matter?" Ryou retorted. He had to handle this carefully. Push just enough, say just the right things… _It's almost like playing a game, only they don't know they're playing,_ he thought.

_"The game is always better when you hold all the cards, little host,"_ the spirit said.

_"What game?"_ Ryou asked. _I wonder how the spirit always hears my thoughts. Can I hear his?_

_"You already recognized it, and you've been playing it even without realizing it. You play very well for one so young, little host."_ Ryou felt a sense of proprietary pride coming from the spirit.

"Anyway," he continued aloud, before either Malik or his sister could reply. "I don't know much about these things – " Ryou tugged at the Ring's cord " – but I know that I wouldn't be able to wear it if I weren't supposed to, right?" The last word had the desired effect – both Malik and his sister nodded slowly. Ryou opened his mouth as if to say something again, but Malik's sister held a finger to her lips in a gesture of silence.

"We should not speak of these things here," she said, leveling a stern look at Ryou. He suddenly had to restrain a laugh – Malik's sister was really trying too hard.

"Oh," he finally replied. _This is almost too easy._ "Well, why not? There's nobody here." He gave her a somewhat belligerent look. _Toss in some naiveté, and a good bit of "honest curiosity." Give her some of what she'd expect from "street kid," but let her see just a little of what's really there._ It was a delicate balance; he had to make sure that she didn't think him a completely gullible fool, but he couldn't let her see too much, or his whole plan would fall apart. The sense of approval from the spirit was reassuring, even though his "plan" was only a vague, tentative thing.

"No, Isis is right," Malik said. He gave Ryou a considering look through slightly narrowed eyes. Ryou met his gaze, and after a moment, Malik nodded slightly, as if to himself. "Sister, can Barakah come back with us? He's all on his own, and he _does_ have a Millennium Item."

_"Yes!"_ Ryou hissed mentally.

_"He suspects something,"_ the spirit replied.

_"Of course he does,"_ Ryou said.

_"Part of your plan?"_

_"Maybe."_ The spirit snorted, and shook its head.

_"Watch yourself, host,"_ it said.

"You know our laws, Malik," Isis began.

"And you know what I think of them," Malik snapped, giving her a fierce look. He had half-raised the Rod, and his grip on it was white-knuckled.

_"Oh, I **see**," _the spirit said with a chuckle. _"Very clever, little host. You do indeed play the game well."_ Ryou didn't quite understand what the spirit was talking about, but he didn't have time to give it any thought; he had to keep his attention on Malik and his sister – Isis – if he were to keep ahead of…

_Oh. I get it. The **game.** That's what the spirit was talking about._ His smile was purely mental; outwardly, he maintained a more neutral expression, shifting his gaze between Malik and Isis. And he remained silent.

"Malik – " Isis started gain, glancing briefly at Ryou.

"No!" Malik shouted, flinging his left hand out in a cutting motion. "No more pointless laws, and stagnant traditions! No more suffering and waiting in the dark for a pharaoh who wants nothing but to hurt us! I… I…" Malik clenched his teeth, tears glittering in the corners of his eyes. Ryou took a half-step back.

_"This is ve-e-ery interesting," _ the spirit said with a dark smirk. _"The pharaoh, eh? I wonder…"_

_"?"_ Ryou sent back.

_"Never mind. Pay attention,"_ the spirit responded.

"Malik…" Isis said again, in a different tone of voice. She stopped, meeting Malik's challenging gaze. She briefly dropped her eyes, and quickly raised them again, but the damage was done; Malik had won. "What about the rest of the clan?" she asked. Malik smacked the Rod into his hand.

"Let them answer to me," he said grimly, his eyes gleaming. "Barakah is coming with us." Malik paused, and glanced over at Ryou. "That is, if you want to…"

"Um, sure," Ryou replied. "After all, it's not like I really have anywhere better to go." Malik nodded.

"Let's go then," he said, and started off down the dark street, tucking the Rod back under his robe as he walked. Ryou glanced at Isis, and then started after Malik.

"I have a few things I want to grab," Ryou said. He could hear Isis's footsteps start behind him.

"Can you make it quick?" Malik asked, after a brief silence.

"Yeah," Ryou replied. "I'll catch up before you're out of town." He ducked down an alley as they passed it, seeing Malik's nod out of the corner of his eye.

_"That boy has a lot of charisma," _the spirit commented, as Ryou made his way quickly back to his underground hideout. _"Don't allow yourself to be drawn into the position of a follower."_

_"I don't plan on it,"_ Ryou replied.

_"Good."_

Once inside his hideout, Ryou grabbed a slightly battered canvas bag, and began tossing things into it. His spare caftan, a pair of khaki pants, two t-shirts – one plain white, the other striped with blue – his spare sandals, and all the extra cards he had. There were a few other things he added – odds and ends, and a few trinkets – before he was satisfied.

_"Am I forgetting anything?"_ he asked the spirit.

_"The new knife,"_ it prompted. _"You should be in the habit of carrying more than one."_ Ryou nodded, and slipped it into his jacket. As an afterthought, he grabbed his other jacket as well, this one a faded green and better fit than the oversized dusty brown he normally wore. He typically wore it with his khakis, when he had to blend into a more cosmopolitan area than his usual stomping grounds.

_It might be a while before we can come back here, _Ryou thought, as he added the last item to his bag – half of the money he had, a sum of nearly five-thousand pound Egyptian.

_"Having second thoughts, little host?"_ the spirit asked.

_"No, just thinking,"_ Ryou replied, as he climbed out of the hideout. After securing his "door," Ryou looked around again – not that he was expecting anyone in the alley at this hour, but caution never hurt – and climbed to the top of the wall. Once above the city, he followed the roof road back the way he came. He hadn't been down in the hideout long, and following the roofs, it didn't take long to catch up to Malik and his sister. _Looks like they've been taking it pretty slowly. They haven't gone more than a few blocks. _

"Absolutely not!" Ryou heard Malik's sister exclaim, as he came to a roof right next to them. Her voice dropped then, and Ryou had to tap the power of the Ring to bring her voice to him. "I don't care what you think of him, or that he has a Millennium Item! You can't just – " Isis bit off her own words, turning her head away. "He's an outsider. And worse, a foreigner! You saw his eyes."

_Sounds like someone doesn't care for me,_ Ryou thought. It seemed as if there was something more, some wordless communication between Isis and Malik, but from his angle, Ryou wasn't in any position to read it.

"I don't care," Malik said stubbornly. "He was chosen by a Millennium Item, just like me. And besides…" he trailed off, and Ryou saw him shake his head. "It doesn't matter. I like him. And I've never had a friend before." His voice took on an odd, almost plaintive note at the end.

"You think this Barakah could be a friend?" Isis asked skeptically.

"Maybe," Malik replied. He turned away from his sister, looking around, allowing Ryou a glimpse of his stubbornly set face. It caused an odd twinge in his chest.

_As interesting as listening to this is, I can't sit up here all night. _With that thought, Ryou dropped down into the nearest alleyway. He waited a few seconds more, for Malik and his sister to walk by.

"Ah! I did manage to catch up," he said, putting on his best 'relieved' smile. Gratifyingly, they both jumped, although Isis hid it better. "So where are we going? There aren't exactly a lot of houses out here. A few shacks, but— " he deliberately looked them both over "—you two are dressed too nicely for that." When Ryou joined them, Malik and his sister had quickened their stride, and now the three of them were moving at a good pace.

"It's a secret," Malik said with a grin. "You'll see when we get there."

_But I already know the secret,_ Ryou thought. Outwardly, he tried to project a sense of barely contained curiosity. As they went farther into the desert – and, Ryou knew, closer to the trapdoor entrance to Malik's home – he allowed his demeanor to become increasingly irritated, until finally, when he knew that they were practically on top of it, he stopped.

"All right, this isn't funny anymore Malik," he said, crossing his arms stubbornly. "I'm not taking one more step until you tell me where we're going."

"Actually," Malik began, walking a little ways more. "It's right—" His words cut off as he froze in place, his golden skin paling to a sallow tone.

"Malik, what's wrong?" Isis asked, stepping up to him. And then suddenly taking an involuntary step back. "Oh no!" she gasped. "We never should have left!" She didn't grow pale like her brother, but even in moonlight Ryou could see the telltale glitter of tears in her eyes. Unable to repress his curiosity, Ryou went to join them.

_"Well isn't this clichéd,"_ came the not-unexpected comment from inside his head.

_"What happened?"_ Ryou asked the spirit. _"Wasn't it hidden?"_

_"Yes,"_ the spirit replied. _"But it would appear that the illusion ahs been broken, and the crypt broken into."_

"It's not supposed to be like that, is it?" Ryou asked. Wordlessly, Isis shook her head. Malik's fists were clenched in barely controlled rage, one of them wrapped so tightly around the Millennium Rod that his fingers were turning white. Ryou blinked. He hadn't even seen Malik take the thing out.

_"Damn,"_ Ryou said.

_"He's not half bad," _the spirit conceded. _"But we're still better."_ Ryou thought of the man's soul sitting in his pocket, and couldn't help agreeing.

"It could be dangerous down there," Malik warned. "Barakah, if you want to go back, I understand. It's your decision," he added, glaring at his sister, who had clearly been about to say something. Ryou shook his head.

"I'm used to danger," he said. "And you might need my help. That's what friends are for, right?" He smiled at Malik. Malik nodded, and vanished down the steps. Ryou followed, walking calmly into the dark.


End file.
